


Call the Fire Brigade (hot, damn!)

by Hepsia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred Jones is a Little Shit, Arthur Kirkland is So Done, Boys Being Boys, Comedy, Firefighter AU, Fluff, Human AU, Humor, Ivan Braginsky is a Little Shit, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Poor Germany (Hetalia)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29625096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hepsia/pseuds/Hepsia
Summary: As the culprit who had accidentally set fire to his best friend’s kitchen, Ludwig knew he didn’t get to speak. However, he still thought that the FDNY should fire Ivan Braginsky, because that man was just too hot to NOT be a constant fire hazard wherever he went.
Relationships: Germany/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Call the Fire Brigade (hot, damn!)

When Feliciano sent him a photo of his newly installed AGA oven, Ludwig would have been lying if he said he wasn’t a smidge jealous. Just a smidge. It was white and pristine and had sleek edges, and all too expensive for his own financial tastes. Feliciano himself had received it as a gift. It was just a pity Ludwig wasn’t close enough to Berwald to jokingly ask where was _his_ AGA, because damn—that thing was nice.

They lived across each other in a Brooklyn condo because that’s what best friends did: be each other’s neighbors, and congratulate each other when they get gifted shiny new ovens. Ludwig knew of Feliciano’s passion for cooking, and so the happiness he felt for him was genuine. 

Ludwig himself didn’t shy away from the culinary arts, though he preferred to bake. His teaching job allowed little free time to spare for these hobbies, however, so he cherished the moments when he could. That was why, when Feliciano invited him over to try out his new oven, Ludwig had leapt at the opportunity.

Sunday morning, he awoke to a text from Feliciano, who had miraculously risen before Ludwig to send the message so early. 

_Feel free to use it whenever !! I’ll be at the match w/ Romano allday :’)_

_Did you leave the manual like I said?_ Ludwig sent his message and got up to shave.

By the time he freshened up and was ready for his coffee, Feliciano had replied.

_Omg !! I think I threw it out ohno Im so sorry !! Maybe if u look thru the recyclig out back ?_

Ludwig snorted into his mug. It was the response he had expected and his friend never disappointed. Oh well. It couldn’t be that hard to figure out, and he could always Google if he really got stuck. He wasn’t about to go dumpster-diving for a piece of paper he probably wouldn’t even need.

 _Don’t worry about it. I got this._ Ludwig drained his coffee and washed it at his sink.

It turned out Feliciano would indeed have to worry about it. And Ludwig, in fact, had _not_ got this.

All major events in history would have started out as any ordinary day, just like how Ludwig started his by unlocking the door to Feliciano’s unit (because yes, best friends lived across each other and carried spare sets of each other’s keys in case of emergency). The first things he noticed were the night clothes strewn about across the floor and shoes lying haphazardly next to them. Huffing in annoyance, Ludwig bent down and straightened the shoes to a corner by the entrance. He tossed the clothes into the washing machine, not caring if they were actually clean or dirty.

They had been adults for quite some time now, and both of them had struggled to get where they were today. But some things simply weren't meant to change, it seemed. Habits were no longer as easy to adopt and break out of. Cleaning up after Feliciano had never been as much of a nuisance as Ludwig liked to pretend it was. If there was any reason for concern, it was the thought that he'd inadvertently made themselves too dependent on one another—Feliciano, for Ludwig's talent in a variety of life skills. Ludwig, for the entirety of Feliciano's company and bottomless heart.

Loneliness had always been one of those problems that existed yet Ludwig felt no urgency to address, just like the flooring in his south-east bedroom corner that always creaked. Or the toilet that sometimes ran on its own in the middle of the night. Or the small crack in his phone screen that made the surrounding pixels go all funny, and then a good smack against a hard surface would revert it back. They were all issues that were a part of his life for as long as he could remember, but never big enough to warrant any effort on his part to fix.

It didn't matter, anyhow. Feliciano knew of Ludwig's borderline abysmal social skills in all its glory since they were kids. They were now in their mid-twenties and the guy was still sending him Italian memes (which he could only understand about half of), so it was probably safe to say that there was no real danger of losing his only friend any time soon.

Ludwig stood in Feliciano's kitchen where the AGA emitted a steady, warm heat from its toasty depths. One compartment must already be in the works, because he could smell a delicious roast filling the room. That signature Feliciano-style, home cooking that Ludwig had the privilege of tasting every week, not by any demand of his own but because the chef himself came knocking on his door with a steaming pot every Friday evening.

It wasn't the intricacies of the contraption itself that had ruined the day. No, not at all. By mid-afternoon, he managed to put together two batches of Bienenstich which he stuck in the fridge to cool. He wiped his hands on a crochet towel and threw it on the counter behind him as he began wiping away the flour with wet paper towels. A sudden idea struck his head. Gilbert had gifted him a rainbow set of microfibre cloths last Christmas to mock him for his cleaning obsession, but ironically Ludwig had found them to be the best things to have ever graced his life. It wouldn't hurt Feliciano to have some for his own kitchen, as they basically mopped up everything from simple spills to the bigger mistakes in life.

Ludwig was back in his own unit and digging through his cleaning cupboard when his phone rang. He answered without looking to see who it was.

 _"Guess what!"_ Gilbert's voice was difficult to make out from the cacophony of street noise around him. _"I won! I won for real this time!"_

"How much?" Ludwig droned his obligatory inquiry, as he did whenever Gilbert made such calls.

 _"Three-hundred dollars!"_ Gilbert yelled. _"How much is that in euros, anyway? Whatever, it sounds like a lot. I fuckin' told ya, West! Drinks on me tonight!"_

"And how much did you spend to win those three-hundred dollars?" Ludwig asked sternly. He kept the phone pressed between his face and shoulder as he picked out a green, white, and red microfibre cloth, which he folded into the Italian flag and hoped Feliciano would appreciate the humor of it. "Don't lie to me, brother, I can see your bank records."

 _"Er—"_ Gilbert's excitement faltered audibly, as if this was the first time he had been scrutinized by Ludwig over the phone. _"Look, I may have spent around five or six more, but those tickets were a scam, I tell ya! There was no way I could lose to something as stupid as bad luck."_

"'Bad luck'?" Ludwig stopped his folding and grabbed his phone properly. "I know you have the money to spend, but that doesn't mean you should be so irresponsible with it. What if you don't get called in for two weeks, and you needed to pay your taxes within the week? What if they laid you off because they didn't need someone on-call anymore?"

 _"Calm down, West, I can hear your veins popping,"_ Gilbert snarked. _"And I remember what you said, okay? I really held back this time, and didn't lose as much. I promise! Now let me get those drinks for us, yes?"_

Ludwig breathed in and out through his nose. "Okay, fine. But I—"

Huh.

That was strange. For a split second, Ludwig had been transported to a moment in his childhood, where he had watched Gilbert set one of their neighbor's Barbie dolls ablaze in their backyard. The nostalgia barely registered as he was still reeling from the vertigo of being pulled into such a weirdly specific memory. And why? It was true he was currently talking to the ex-junior arsonist himself, but they were both grown up now. Never had merely speaking to his older brother had set off such a memory before.

 _"Hallo?"_ Gilbert sounded annoyed at the abrupt halt to their conversation. _"You fall asleep or something?"_

"No, but I think I'm having a stroke," Ludwig muttered, half to himself. "I don't know why but I just remembered..."

Another inhale, following by a quick exhale. There it was again: the mental snapshot of Barbie's bleach blond hair crackling in the pit, along with the unmistakable stench of burning, melting plastic.

"Oh, _scheiße,_ " was all Ludwig managed to croak before his eardrums were shattered by the deafening screech of the building-wide fire alarm.


End file.
